


The Day the World Changed Forever

by Benson_Arizona



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, I will not accept this canon, Pretty much AU after halfway through 5x10, Root's not dead, okay?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7100191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Benson_Arizona/pseuds/Benson_Arizona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Root makes it to the hospital, but is captured by Samaritan Agents.  Shaw goes after her.  <br/>Harold unleashes the fury of the machine.<br/>The war ends, and the world goes on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shapes

Burning pain courses through her chest. Her vision is blurry, but she can make out lights on the ceiling and faces hovering over her. She tries to raise her hand, but it is held back, and she realizes it is handcuffed to a rail. Alarmed, she jerks at the chains and tries to sit up. The hubbub of voices around her become frantic for a moment, and a mask is pressed over her nose and mouth. The space around her fades to black again, and she slips away from consciousness.

Gunshots ring out, and she feels like she is moving. The lights above her flash by as she is wheeled down a hall. She can see the shapes of men in suits pulling the bed she is chained to. The pain comes back a moment later, and she shuts her eyes again, willing herself not to scream. The world begins to slip away, and all that remains is a little voice whispering in her ear.

She focuses in on the voice. It is her.

“I’m sorry.” She whispers over and over.

Why? Root silently asks in her mind. Why are you sorry?

“I’m sorry.” The voice still whispers, and then Root loses that too. The blackness and silence swallow her again.

                                                                                          ***

The next time she woke, it was to a familiar face staring down at her.

“Miss Groves.” Greer said. “What a pleasure to finally see you again.”

The pain was still there, not at all subdued, and she gritted her teeth as she raised her head to look at him. She found it was too much effort to speak, so she let the silence hang.

Greer stepped closer to her, laying a hand on the right side of her head and pushing it back down to the bed. “After our last meeting was so rudely cut short, I didn’t think I would ever have the gratification of ripping that implant out of your head to find your foolish god. I’m glad to see I was wrong.”

Across the room, she heard a bone saw turn on, electric motor wining in the background. The pain made it impossible for her to move, and she relaxed back into the bed, accepting her fate.

“I’m sorry.” The voice said again. Then a mind numbing burst of pain hit the side of her head, radiating away from her right ear. She screamed, the pain reverberating through her skull and making the muscles all through her body tense up.

The blackness started to rise up in her mind again, drowning out the world. The voice was gone, replaced by the pain.

                                                                                          ***

Lights.

Voices.

Pain.

Silence…

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

The sound of water echoed through the large empty space. She slowly raised her head, taking in her surroundings. She was sitting in a chair in an empty warehouse.   Her hands were zip-tied to the arms, but she swiftly wriggled out of the restraints. She stood shakily, hand resting on the back of the chair.

The voice was silent. Root was alone. She put her hand up beside her right ear, feeling the old scar, ensuring herself that the cochlear implant was still there. Why did she need to check? Of course it was still there.

She lowered her hand, face puzzled. Then she shook her head, as if clearing the confusion away. How had she gotten here? More importantly: where was here?

A glint of metal caught her eye, and she looked closely at the floor by the chair. In the half-light filtering in through the dirty windows of the warehouse, she could see a pistol.  She moved to pick it up, steadying herself with a hand on the chair as she bent down. Her fingers met the cold metal of the grip, and she hefted the weapon, feeling its weight in her hands.  She stood again, and tucked the gun into her waistband. She would probably need it later.

Then she turned toward the edge of the warehouse, looking for a way out. She found one quickly, but it was locked from the outside. She pulled the gun out, pointed it at the lock, and fired two quick shots through the door. She kicked it open and stepped out, carefully checking back and forth before leaving her cover.

It was cloudy outside, a steady drizzle hanging in the air. She was cold, she realized. All she was wearing was a thin t shirt and jeans. She tucked the gun back into her waistband and jogged away from the warehouse.

She appeared to be in New York, on the docks. She was grateful that she could at least recognize her surroundings. She had to get back to the subway, to the team. They needed her.

She remembered, Harold’s number had come up. She had been driving him. Then the pain.

She stopped running, her hand finding its way to her collar bone unprompted. The last she had seen of him, the police had been leading him away. Her memory of the scene was fuzzy, like she had seen it through a rippling layer of water.

She pressed her fingers to the scar again. The machine’s silence was troubling her. She was never this quiet. She always had something to say.

What was going on?

Then she saw them standing in the shadows in the open door of the warehouse she had just left behind: Samaritan agents, three of them. She started running again.

Somehow, in the drizzly half-dark, she managed to lose them. She found herself in an alley, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath after running for blocks and blocks. She couldn’t go home yet. She might lead them there.

There was an uncomfortable tingling in her chest, and she leaned against the wall, sinking down onto the pavement as she tried to catch her breath.

Movement at the mouth of the alley caught her eye, and she pointed the gun at the dark shape looming there. Shaw stepped out of the shadows.

Root let the gun drop by her side, a relieved smile lighting up her face. “I can’t believe you found me, sweetie.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Where the hell have you been?” Vague annoyance colored her tone, but she reached out a hand, offering to help Root stand. Root gladly took her hand and let her pull her back to her feet.

“I think Samaritan took me on a little field trip.” She tilted her head to the side as she studied Shaw intently. “I shouldn’t go back to the subway until we can be sure they’re not tracking me.”

Shaw paused for a moment, as though frozen mid-thought. Then she nodded, lips pursed in her typical expression of annoyance. “We have to get you somewhere safe. Is there any place other than the subway that we could go?"

Root paused, thinking. “The safe house is compromised.” She said with a slight shake of her head. “I think we’ll just have to keep moving.”

“We should just go back to the subway. It’ll be fine.” Shaw said, turning to the mouth of the alley.

“No.” Root stumbled after her, grabbing her arm. “We can’t lead them to Harry or the machine.”

Shaw spun back around to face her. “Where can we go that’s safe?”

“Let’s just jack a car and drive for a bit. See if we’re followed.”

Shaw sighed deeply, rubbing her hand over her face. “Fine.” She huffed, turning on her heel and stalking out of the alley.

They stole a car in silence, Shaw getting into the driver’s seat and hot-wiring it to start. They cruised down the misty city streets, the lights flashing by. Root sat hunched in her seat, inexplicably cold.

She furtively glanced in the mirrors, looking for Samaritan agents in pursuit.

“So.” Shaw broke the silence. “You going to tell me what happened?”

“I-I I don’t know.” Root replied. She was still confused, and the machine hadn’t spoken to her since she had woken up in the warehouse. The last thing she remembered before the warehouse was the cops, and Harry fading away. She shuddered, the cold creeping into her bones. The pain in her chest was back. “I woke up in a deserted warehouse about a half an hour ago. There were Samaritan ops there, but I got away. I didn’t stick around long enough to find out what they wanted to do with me.”

Shaw nodded silently from her seat, watching the road.

“Where’s Harry?” Root asked, concern creeping into her voice. She didn’t know what had happened to him after the police had taken him away, she realized.

“He’s fine.” Shaw answered shortly. “He’s at the subway. You could see for yourself if you would just let us go back.”

“We can’t. Not yet.”

Shaw shook her head. Root glanced in the mirror again. “That black SUV. It’s been following us for three blocks now.”

Shaw looked back over her shoulder. “Looks like we got company.” She said, pressing down on the gas. The car rocketed forward, tires screeching on the pavement.

The black SUV sped up, and two gun turrets opened in the roof. It reminded her of something she had seen before. The car chase. Harry. She had managed to take out the car that time. Then she remembered the impact of the snipers bullet, knocking her breath away.

What had happened after that?

An operating room, lights, voices, gunshots.

She half shut her eyes, trying to remember where they had taken her.

The rattling beat of machine guns brought her back to the present. She ducked down, keeping her head out of the line of sight through the back window. The glass of the windows shattered as bullets ripped through the car. Shaw steered with one hand as she reached for her gun.

Root held out her hand toward Shaw, wordlessly asking for the gun. Shaw slid the gun into her hand with a hardly perceptible nod. Root pulled the gun she had taken from the warehouse out of her waistband, taking it in her other hand.

She brought the butt of the gun up, smashing out the glass of the passenger’s side window. Then she half crawled out the opening, twisting to return the Samaritan agents’ fire. She aimed for the tires, and after a couple of shots the driver of the SUV lost control, careening into the rows of cars parked along the road.

She smiled as she slid back into her seat, glancing at Shaw. The corner of Shaw’s mouth twitched up slightly as she turned her head away from Root.

“I think we lost them for now.” Shaw said as she slowed the speed of the car, easing into a sharp turn. “You sure about not going back to the subway?”

Root nodded. “They’re still probably looking for us. If Samaritan has a track on this vehicle then we can’t get anywhere near the subway.”

Shaw silently surveyed the damage to the car they were driving. “We need to find a new ride anyway. This one’s going to draw attention.”

They dumped the shot up car in an empty parking garage and left as quickly as they could. They found a new car swiftly, and this time Root drove.

She drove fast, speeding through the darkening streets. Her mind raced as fast as the car, trying to make sense of everything. Beside her, Shaw sat in silence, surveying their surroundings for any sign of trouble.

Then something in Root’s mind clicked. She had been shot. Not in the arm, or grazed. A big sniper slug had slammed into her body. She had been bleeding to death. That’s why her vision had been fuzzy. Her hand was on her collarbone again, pressing the place where she knew she had been shot.

“Sameen…” She said, looking at Shaw. “How long was I gone?”

Shaw shrugged. “A few hours maybe. Why?”

Root shook her head, biting her lip. “It all makes so much sense now. I couldn’t understand before, but now that I see it, I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. She hasn’t been talking to me since I woke up, and I couldn’t understand why. But it’s because none of this is real. This is all happening inside Samaritan.”

Shaw stared at her, her expression incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

“This.” Root gestured to the car. “You. The entire city. It’s all a simulation, just like you told me about.”

“Root.” Shaw laid a hand on her arm where she gripped the steering wheel. “Let’s just go back to the subway. Go back home.”

The cold invaded Root’s body again, and she shivered. Now she knew why she was cold. It was the real world bleeding through. The same with the pain in her chest. It was where she had been shot. She swallowed, face twisted into a sad smile. “I can’t go home. I would be showing Samaritan where everything I care about is hidden.”

Roots knuckles grew white as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” She said as she stomped down on the gas and sped toward a telephone pole.

“Root, no!” Shaw reached for her arm, trying to pull it away from the wheel, trying to change the path of the vehicle.

But she was too late.

Root felt the shock of the crushing impact, heard the glass of the windows shattering around her. Then her world faded to black again.

                                                            ***

Lights.

Voices.

Pain.

Silence…

She gasped awake again.

The impact still hummed in her nerves, but it was fading away. Like a dream. She tried to remember what had happened moments before, but somehow she couldn’t.

She was in a warehouse. She realized she was zip-tied to a chair. The ties on her wrists were loose, and it was easy for her to get out of them. She stood once she was free, looking around the warehouse.

There was a gun lying on the floor beside the chair, and she took it. She wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was heavy and real feeling in her hand, and she took comfort in the coldness of the metal.

She found the door easily and shot out the lock. It was cold outside, and the misty rain chilled her to the bone.

Three Samaritan agents chased her through the wet early evening dusk, and it was all she could to outrun them. The machine was eerily silent in her ear, and she didn’t know what to do. After she had lost them, she sunk down in an alley, feeling an odd sense of de-ja-vu on top of the strange pain in her chest.

Then Shaw found her. They had moved through the oncoming night together for a while, but then Root had realized again why the world felt so strange, so out of step, and why she felt cold. Then she had ended it again.

                                                                           ***

Lights.

Voices.

Pain.

Silence…

Greer was staring down at her when she opened her eyes. “It would be so much easier for you if you would just go home, Miss Groves. But then, you and your associates have never taken the easiest path before, so I don’t really expect you to start now.”   He tilted his head slightly, studying her. “But you will eventually. One can only holdout so long in the face of superior force.”

She grinned giddily, a pained chuckle bursting from her lips. “So you didn’t find her with the cochlear implant then. I knew she wouldn’t let you.”

“No, miss Groves. Your god left you before we could. Overloaded the implant and burned it out. It could have killed you, or given you permanent brain damage.” He raised his eyebrows in emphasis. “Your life doesn’t mean much to it, does it now?”

She shook her head, still grinning. “My life has never been the point. She’ll do what she has to do.”

“Very well.” Greer said with a sardonic half smile. “We shall continue.”

She felt a needle prick her arm, and her vision grew blurry again.

                                                                           ***

Lights.

Voices.

Pain.

Silence…

This time she jumps in front of a car while the agents are chasing her.

                                                                           ***

Lights.

Voices.

Pain.

Silence…

She throws herself off the carpark when they stop to ditch first car they stole. Shaw’s terrified shout for her to stop echoes in her ears as she falls.

                                                                           ***

Lights.

Voices.

Pain.

Silence…

It goes on and on.


	2. A Butterfly Spreads it's Wings

Reese answers the phone, and Shaw holds her breath, watching his face. His expression falls and he shakes his head slightly.

Her world ends a little in that moment.

“She’s gone.” He says. “Sounds like Samaritan got there first, shot up an operating room. Fusco can’t find her.”

Her world comes rushing back again. Root might not be dead. They can’t be sure yet. “Go find Finch, stop him from doing anything stupid.” She says, her words clipped.

“What are you going to do?” Reese asked, watching her with an unreadable expression.

She walked past him silently, not bothering to answer. He let her go, understanding. She had to find Root. It drove her forward, into the night.

The searchlights flashed through the sky behind her, lighting up trees and buildings. But she can’t turn back. Can’t stop now. She stole a car parked in the darkness by the side of the road and peeled away from the curb, tires shrieking as she stepped on the gas.

Where would they take her? Somewhere in the city probably, given how badly she had been injured. City lights flashed across her face as she drove, her eyes stony and her face set. Where had they taken her after the stock exchange? She couldn’t remember. It was all a blur in her memory, real and fake images clashing for dominance in her mind.

She looked down at her phone where it lay on the passenger’s seat. It was a stupid idea, really, she told herself. She sighed. “Locate analogue interface.” She barely mumbled, hardly believing that she was actually addressing Root and Finch’s stupid god.

The phone buzzed, and she rolled her eyes. Of course it would work. She could feel Root’s gloating smirk all the way from wherever the hell they had taken her.

She read the text. It was an address, and a simple message: “Hurry.”

Then all the lights in the city went out. It reminded her of the day Samaritan went online. She turned on the radio, but all there was only static, even on the emergency frequencies. Her phone didn’t have service either. Apparently John hadn’t been able to stop Harold from doing anything stupid.

The storm that had been coming for so long was finally here.

So, she thought, as traffic slowed to a stop around her and confused citizens flooded the street, this is what a confrontation between two rival ASIs looks like. She had to admit, it wasn’t pretty.

She sighed. She wasn’t going to get anywhere in the car. Behind her, an angry motorcyclist was yelling, confused by the sudden blackout. She smirked. She hated driving motorcycles, but it would have to do. She pushed the door open and climbed out of the car. The man didn’t see her as she approached him in the dark, and she made quick work of him, dumping him out of the way on the sidewalk.

Then she climbed on the bike, flicking on the high beams and beginning to weave through traffic. She made good time, getting to the address the machine had given her in under an hour. Occasionally, as she drove, a black SUV would roar past, driving on the sidewalk. Samaritan agents, she assumed, off to fight the final battle.

But it wasn’t her battle. That was here, before her. She pulled the bike up on the side of the road, cutting off the engine. She had driven out of the center of the city, but the sound of sirens and mayhem still drifted to her ears. She was in front of a big building, lights still shining out of its windows.

She frowned. The facility must have a generator. And since the lights were still on, she could expect full security measures to still be in place. She took stock of the weapons she was carrying. She had two handguns and three knives in total. It wouldn’t be enough to take out the facility. She would have to improvise.

                                                            ***

The carefully crafted world of Samaritan’s simulations was a thing of great objective beauty. That, Root had to admit. But they were cold. She was cold. And so tired. She didn’t know how long she could keep doing this before her physical body just gave out.

Her pulse was weak, and her breathing was labored. Behind her, three Samaritan agents swept the street, trying to follow her. Eventually, she knew, they would lose her track, encouraging her to go to one of the team’s secure locations, thus compromising it. But something was different this time. There were cracks in Samaritan’s typically nearly flawless fake world. It was breaking down.

Random passersby slowly faded away, or their faces were distorted or not fully modeled. Some of them lost body parts, or stretched. The agents were still following, but they slowed, as though walking through flowing water. Then they stopped outright.

The world was frozen around her, people in midstride, a dropped phone hanging in the air, spilled coffee frozen in a twisted airborne mass. She slowed to a walk, spinning in a circle to take it all in. This was humanity. Or at least one way to view it. So flawed. So pointless. So cruel. Yet so beautiful. So fleeting. So timeless. So real. So precious.

She shook her head. Samaritan hadn’t done them justice. It never could. They were not creatures built solely of code, nor could they ever be. Yet that was what they were in essence reduced to here.

It was something she had said once herself: that humans were just bad code. But she had been wrong. Humans weren’t good code either. They weren’t code. No matter how complex the algorithm, there was always the chance that the predictions of either ASI could be wrong. That chance lay entirely in the inherent unpredictability of human nature. It was something that couldn’t be replicated or quantified. Something that didn’t make sense from a mechanical perspective. But it was what made them human. And it was what made Samaritan underestimate them.

She felt something shift in the virtual world around her. It shook her out of her reverie. An intense light shone around the edges of the simulation, and the images of people and buildings began to pixelate and flake away.

The voice that usually buzzed in her cochlear implant boomed through the simulation. She couldn’t make out what it was saying. The simile of New York fell away, replaced by endless and blindingly white blank space. It twisted and heaved, as though being torn apart from within.

A deafening and inhuman shrieking sound filled her ears, and she dropped to her knees, her hands pressed over her ears in an effort to block it out. The firm floor of the simulation gave out beneath her, and she felt as though she was falling through infinite space.

                                                            ***

Shaw was surprised by the ease with which she infiltrated the building. There were less guards than she had expected. They were probably away, looking for Harold or the machine.

The facility looked like a fairly standard mental hospital. Shaw walked through the corridors slowly, gun drawn, trying to stay out of the field of view of the security cameras. She recognized this place. She had been here before, just after the stock exchange.

She suppressed a shudder. She remembered running down these same halls, desperately trying to get away. Back before she had lost track of what was real and what was a cruel game of smoke and mirrors. She shook her head a little, trying to bring herself back to the present, back to what she knew had to be reality.

She had to find Root. That was the mission.

She knew from her time there that Root would be on the top floor, in the middle of one of Samaritan’s bases of operation. She took the elevator up, shooting out the security camera in the corner before she stepped in.

She was greeted by gunfire as soon as the doors opened at the top of the shaft. She ducked back into the corner, shielding her face with her arm. Once the shooting paused she slid out of the corner, guns blazing. Five agents were positioned in the hall, and she emptied her two guns into them. They had been armed with automatic rifles, and she took one of them, continuing on down the now empty hall.

She had no idea where in the top floor they were holding Root, so she looked for a computer station. She found one easily and searched through the patient database. The latest patient admitted to the secure floor had been entered into the database at ten thirty that morning. About an hour after the car chase had ended, according to the cops that Fusco had spoken to at the scene. It had to be her.

She was in room three-twenty-four, somewhere on the far side of the ward. Shaw started off at a brisk jog, hugging the wall under the security cameras.

She passed room three hundred. She was getting close. Just ahead the hall turned sharply to the right. She rounded the corner at a brisk pace, then leapt back again. Several Samaritan ops were standing in the hall guarding one of the rooms. Slowly, she peered around the corner again. It was room three-twenty-four. She shrunk back again, pressing her back against the wall.

She needed a plan. Across the hall she could see a supply closet. She crossed to it swiftly, slipping quietly through the door. She flicked on the lights and looked up at the ceiling. It was made of big panels, and she pushed one of them up with a mop that was leaned in the corner. Then she flipped the mop bucket and stood on it, using it to gain enough height to jump up and catch ahold of the sides of the opening. She pulled herself up through the hole, careful not to make any noise.

It was dark. The only light in the claustrophobic space filtered up through gaps around the panels. She looked down through the cracks, carefully gauging her position. She would have to crawl straight ahead about fifty feet to get to room three-twenty-four.

She moved slowly and methodically, not wanting to accidentally rest her weight in the wrong place and fall through the ceiling. She smirked. That would be one hell of a rescue.

Looking down, she could see that she was above the agents in the hall. She needed to go just a little to the right to be directly over three-twenty-four. She shifted carefully, almost holding her breath. If she made any noise, nothing was stopping them from blasting her to bits through the ceiling.

Over to her right a vent poked through the ceiling, letting a little light escape up from the room below. It was her best bet at seeing what was going on below; so she made for it. She peered down through the slats, looking for the occupants of the room.

The first thing she saw was Root, lying on a bed, a VR headset crammed over her face and electrodes attached to her body. Her skin was deathly pale, and her shoulder and chest were clumsily bandaged with bloodstained gauze. Shaw’s breathing hitched at the sight. She had to get down there.

Then she saw Greer. He was standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at Root. Shaw froze, her mind fleeing back to the simulations. To the countless times he had methodically stripped away everything she cared about. She brushed her hand over the skin at the base of her skull, feeling for the wound she half expected to find there.

There was nothing.

She swallowed, forcing down the tightness in her throat and blinking back the betraying wetness in the corners of her eyes. This was real. Real Root was lying down there, possibly dying, and she was hiding in the dark flirting with an existential crisis. She took a deep breath. She could do this.

She closed her eyes. Sloppiness now would cost both her and Root their lives. She had to do this right. Before she could act she had to fully assess the threats in the room. She looked back down through the vent.

There were two guards by the door and one tech by the computer that was running the simulations. And of course, there was Greer. She had the advantage of surprise, but once her position was given away she would be virtually defenseless. The two ops by the door were armed with submachine guns. She decided she would take them first.

She moved swiftly, lifting her submachine gun and firing two quick bursts of bullets into the guards. Before they had even hit the floor, she rolled to the side, crashing down through the ceiling. She landed just behind the tech in a rain of dust and broken plaster.

The guards from the hall burst through the door, guns already blazing. She grabbed the tech around the neck, pulling him in front of her while simultaneously returning fire. The agents pushing through the door went down in a heap, piling up on the floor.

“Miss Shaw.” She heard Greer’s voice behind her. “You never miss a chance to make a dramatic entrance, do you?”

She turned toward his voice slowly, letting the tech’s limp body drop to the floor. He stood beside Root, his gun pointed toward her head. Shaw leveled her weapon at him, her finger hovering on the trigger. “Get away from her.” She growled.

He smirked humorlessly. “I suggest you put that gun down if you want Miss Groves to live.”

She swallowed thickly, lowering her gun a fraction. “Put it on the floor.” He commanded.

She complied slowly. “Now then, face the wall. Put your hands where I can see them.” She moved to the wall, hands raised above her head. She heard him step away from Root. She could feel the gun trained on the back of her own head.

Another agent came through the door and stopped. “Cuff Miss Shaw and take her away.” Greer said. “And send up another tech, won’t you. We’ve been having some glitches with the simulation.”

The agent moved up behind her. She could hear him pull a set of handcuffs off of his belt. She smirked. He grabbed one of her hands, pulling it down behind her back. She slid the knife hidden in her sleeve down into the palm of her hand, flicking the blade open. She drove it into his stomach, earning a startled yelp.

She spun toward him, grabbing the gun out of his shoulder holster and kicking him away to get a clear shot at Greer. Greer froze mid-movement, holstering his gun. He had two fingers pressed to his earpiece, a startled expression on his face. His eyes were distant, almost sad. The lights in the room flickered, and he started to draw his gun again, his eyes hardening.

Shaw shot him twice in the chest.

He stumbled back with a gasp, the gun dropping from his hand and clattering on the floor. His back hit the wall behind him, and he slid down to the floor, leaving a long bloody smear on the wall. His eyes grew glassy, and his last breath escaped him in a shuddering hiss.

Shaw stared down at his body, her gun hand shaking slightly. The lights flickered again, then went out.

                                                            ***

The screaming whiteness of the void tore apart, fading into all-encompassing darkness. The emptiness terrified her, and she looked frantically for a way out. Her heart raced, and her breath caught in her throat. She had to get away.

There was no purchase, nothing to hang onto, hear, or see. She was utterly alone. The cold crept into her very soul and the pain filled her.

Then the artificial darkness was ripped away.

She gasped for breath; warm and vaguely musty air filled her lungs. Someone was hovering over her, turning her head toward them with gentle hands. She grabbed ahold of their arm, the solid contact grounding her. She wasn’t falling anymore.

All she could do was breathe, her head still filled with the void. Her heart was racing, and she felt like she was on the edge of a panic attack. “Hey, hey.” A familiar voice reached her through the haze. “Root! It’s okay. It’s me.”

Shaw. She wrapped her hand around Shaw’s where it rested on her face. Shaw’s skin was warm, and it drove the cold away. She relaxed, her breathing slowing.

“Jesus, Root.” She felt Shaw draw back slightly, still keeping her hand on her face. “You look like crap.”

Root tried to laugh, but all that came out was a choked gasp. “Thanks, Shaw.” She managed to mumble. “Love you too.”

She could practically feel Shaw roll her eyes. “Whatever. I gotta get you out of here.”

Shaw broke the contact for a moment, stepping away from the bed. Then she came back, resting her hand carefully on Root’s shoulder. “Alright, I’m going to knock you out again. Otherwise it’s going to hurt like hell when I try to move you. Okay?”

Root nodded. Shaw’s touch shifted slightly, and she felt a needle in her upper arm. She grabbed onto Shaw’s hand, staring into her eyes as the world began to fade. Shaw tightened her grip, squeezing her hand almost imperceptibly. Something akin to relief filled Shaw’s eyes. Then it all went dark again.


	3. A Changing World

The emergency lighting cast twisted shadows on the walls as Shaw pulled the hospital bed down the hall. She held a gun in one hand, eyes sweeping the half-darkness ahead of her. She wished she had thought to bring a flashlight.

She met no opposition on her way back to the elevator. Of course, she realized as the metal doors came back into sight, the power was out, so the damned thing wasn’t working. She cursed internally, looking around for the stairs.

A red exit sign cast an eerie glow on the wall far down the hall, and she pulled the bed toward it. She pushed the door beneath the sign open and tried to drag the bed through. It wouldn’t fit. She cursed again, slamming her fist into the wall in her frustration.

She turned back to Root, checking to make sure she was unconscious. Then she slid her arms under her, lifting her off the bed and gathering her against her chest. “I’m sorry.” She whispered as Root mumbled something, her face scrunching up in pain. She started down the stairs, trying to move fast without jostling Root any more than necessary.

Her arms were sore by the time she got to the bottom of the stairs, but she had to keep moving. The darkness was covering their escape, and she wanted to be out of the building by the time the power came back on. She slipped down the halls unnoticed, following the signs for the fire exit. It would set off an alarm when she opened it, but it was probably the only way out that wasn’t guarded by orderlies.

Following the branching corridors, she came to the small door. It was locked. A card reader was fixed to the door frame. She couldn’t unlock it without a card.

“Fucking hell.” She muttered.

She back tracked a few feet and set Root down as gently as she could, bracing her back against the wall to keep her sitting up. Then she turned back to the door, pulling her gun out of her back pocket. A few quick shots destroyed the lock, and she pushed the door open. The fire alarm started blaring, and the sprinkler system activated.

Picking Root back up, she fled the building at a stumbling run. An ambulance was parked on the far side of the parking lot, and she moved toward it. She set Root down again and opened the back doors of the ambulance.

Finally, she carried Root up into the ambulance and laid her on the stretcher, strapping her in place. She was pale, and her pulse was weaker than Shaw would like it to be. She had to get her back to the safe house so she could properly tend to her injuries.

An EMT's cap and jacket were hanging in the corner, and she took them before stepping out and closing the doors. She pulled the jacket on over her hoodie and settled the cap onto her head, pulling it down to obscure her face.

Then she climbed into the cab and used one of her knives to start the motor. She sped out of the parking lot, foot resting heavily on the gas.

The city was still dark as she drove toward it, and traffic was backed up hopelessly. Fortunately, most of the cars had found a way to pull off to the side of the road, leaving a path for emergency vehicles. Shaw smirked, turning on the ambulance’s flashing lights and sirens and speeding through the stopped traffic.

She made it back to the safe house in much less time than it had taken for her to navigate from the eighth to the mental hospital. She turned off the sirens and lights a few blocks before she reached her destination, and parked several hundred feet away from the building.

In the dark, no one noticed when she passed through carrying Root. The flights of stairs up to the safe house felt like an eternal torture to climb with Root’s limp form weighing her down, but somehow she managed.

She pushed the door open with a bang and stumbled over to the hospital bed in the corner, gratefully setting Root down. The agents that had teemed through the place earlier were gone, leaving virtually no trace behind. She shut the door and activated the locks, then quickly swept through all the rooms to make sure they were alone.

While she was in the kitchen, she pulled the bags of blood they kept in the freezer out, starting to warm them. Once they were ready she started an IV drip in Root’s arm, replenishing the blood she had lost.

Next she peeled the haphazard bandages away from the injury, careful not to further destabilize it. It looked like whatever surgery the doctors had had to perform they had finished before the Samaritan ops had interrupted them. Shaw let out a grateful sigh. The worst of the injuries to Root’s shoulder were stitched up and stabilized.

She wouldn’t be moving her right arm for a while though. The bullet had torn through her shoulder, and she would need to let it take its time to heal if she ever wanted it to function properly again.

She got the med-kit out of the cabinet and set to work properly bandaging Root’s shoulder and immobilizing her arm. There were a few shrapnel injuries scattered across her shoulder and chest, and she bandaged them as well.

Then she noticed a trickle of dried blood on the side of her neck. She gently brushed her long hair out of the way, looking for the source of the blood. The scar behind her right ear had been reopened and enlarged. Shaw frowned, inspecting the injury. It looked like her cochlear implant had been removed. The inside of the wound looked almost like it had been burned.

Shaw cleaned it and stitched it shut, then taped a bandage over it. She had a feeling that this was the injury Root would take the hardest.

Once she was finished, she covered her with a blanket, tucking it gently around her reclining form. Then she sat back, watching her quietly.

She sighed. The only light came from the building’s emergency lighting, and it somehow reminded her of the way the simulations had felt. It made the familiar somehow unfamiliar. She shifted uncomfortably, eyes roaming over the room anxiously, and a little sweat breaking out on her brow. Her hand found its way to the base of her skull, just behind her ear; her fingers brushed idly over the skin there.

Her gun was lying on the table in the center of the room, and she swiftly retrieved it, tucking it into her pocket. Then she sank back down in the chair beside Root. She didn’t realize when, but at some point she took Root’s hand, her fingers resting gently on her wrist, feeling the beat of her heart. The steady beat, strong and regular now, brought her back to reality.

She stifled a deep yawn. How long had she been awake now? She had no idea. Well over sixteen hours, probably. She leaned forward, resting her head on the bed beside Root. She would just sit here for a minute, she told herself. Then she would go clean her guns, or do something useful.

Sunlight was streaming through the windows the next time she opened her eyes. She was still gripping Root’s hand, her fingers loosely clasped around her wrist. Root’s pulse was still strong and Shaw smiled slightly, gently letting go of her hand.

She pulled the IV out of her arm and threw away the empty blood bag. Root was still asleep, her face peaceful, almost serene. Shaw stood at the foot of the bed looking down at her. She had to go look for the rest of the team. But she couldn’t leave Root unconscious with the risk that Samaritan could find her.

Suddenly, she realized she didn’t know if the power had ever come back on over the course of the night. She walked over to the switches by the door, flicking them up. The lights turned on, pale in the face of the actual sun.

So the ultimate ASI Deathmatch was probably over. She wondered who had won, and if there had been any significant physical fallout.

She walked to the television and turned it on, waiting for the screen to light up. The news was full of images broken into and burned down buildings, and police cars. There had been blackouts all across the globe, apparently. Also an anonymous source had tipped the government off to a highly organized terrorist group operating on US soil.

Shaw smirked. So Samaritan hadn’t been a match for Harold’s machine after all. She had always trusted the damn thing back when she was with the ISA, so she supposed it had been foolish of her to start doubting it after Samaritan came to power.

Behind her, she heard Root groan. She shut off the tv and turned to face her. She was struggling to sit up, confusion written plainly on her face. Shaw crossed the space between them quickly, putting her hand on Root’s good shoulder and holding her down.

“Shaw?” Root stuttered, her eyes roaming over the room. “W-where am I?”

“You’re at the safe house.” Root visibly relaxed, recognizing her surroundings.

Then she tensed up again. Something was wrong. There was deadly silence in her right ear. She remembered the pain slamming into the side of her head. Had that been real?

Her right arm was held across her chest in a sling, she realized; so she brought her left hand up to her ear, feeling for the old scar. Her fingers met gauze and tape, and she dug at it almost frantically.

A warm hand pushed hers away from the bandage, cupping her ear and keeping her scrabbling fingers away. “Stop it.” Shaw’s voice was firm. “You’ll tear the stitches.”

She let her eyes flutter shut for a second, collecting herself.

The events of the previous day flooded back to her, and she lay back, letting her head flop onto the pillows behind her.

“Are Harry and the others okay?” She asked, her voice tentative. She dreaded the answer she might get.

“I don’t know.” Shaw shook her head. “I’m going out to look for them in a bit.”

“I’ll come with you.” Root tried to get up again.

“For god’s sake, Root.” Shaw said with an exasperated sigh, pushing her back down. “Stop trying to move. You’re going to hurt yourself. There’s nothing you can do right now besides sit there and let yourself heal.”

“Anything for you, doc.” Root said, with a suggestive raise of her eyebrows and a smirk.

Shaw rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth twitched up slightly. She set two guns and a phone on the left side of the bed beside Root’s good arm. “Call me if anything happens.” She said as she turned toward the door. “And don’t even think about trying to get up.” She called back over her shoulder.

Then the door slammed shut behind her, leaving Root all alone.

The smile that had been on her face as Shaw had spoken to her fell. She looked down at the phone. “Are you there?” She asked, a slight tremor in her voice.

Silence filled the empty rooms as she stared down at the phone. Eventually she sighed, letting her head fall back, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, unfocused.

“I know you won. Why won’t you talk to me?”

The silence remained unbroken.

                                                                                          ***

The soft summer air was unchanged. Shaw drew in a deep shuddering breath. No one would ever know about the desperate war they had fought. The only thing that remained of the struggle was a little broken glass in the streets, and a few areas cordoned off with crime scene tape.

She got into one of Finch’s cars parked in front of the building and headed for the subway. She would check there first, then go to the precinct to look for Reese. She had no idea where “Professor Whistler” had lived, so she would need to enlist Root’s help if she couldn’t find Finch at the subway.

Police were directing traffic away from the street the subway was on, so she parked the car on the next street over and slipped through the barricade on foot. She stayed close to the buildings, keeping her head down. The entrance to the subway was blocked off with crime scene tape, and she stopped, looking toward where the vending machine had been.

It was blown out of the wall, lying on its side. Officers were walking in and out of the gaping hole it had left. She ducked under the tape and moved till she stood parallel to the opening. The big space was empty, and the PlayStations that had made up the machine were smashed and scattered across the floor. Shell casings were dispersed among the broken electronics, and chunks of the ceiling had been knocked down with explosives and gunfire.

Shaw left quickly. She didn’t look back.

At the corner of the street, just past the police barricade, she spotted a mop of brown fur cowering in the shadow of a building. Bear.

She called his name, bending down and slapping her knees. He perked up at the sound of her voice, running to her. He crashed into her, his tongue swiping over her face. “Hey, buddy!” She mumbled through his assault, wrapping her arms around his wriggling form.

“Where did everyone go? Huh, Buddy?” She said as she pulled back. The dog pushed forward, licking her face again. She patted his head, smoothing her hands over his ears. “They went and left you. Are you okay?” She ran her hands over him, checking for injuries. Finding nothing, she straightened up. “Let’s blow this Popsicle stand. C’mon boy.”

The dog followed her down the street, away from the destroyed subway.

Back in the car, she turned toward the eighth, speeding a little. It was easy for her to slip into the station unnoticed, since the police were still swamped after the blackout.

Both Fusco and Reese’s desks were unoccupied.

She stood silently for a moment, staring at the two empty chairs.

                                                                                          ***

A noise at the door broke the deep silence that had settled in the safe house. Root reached for one of the guns sitting beside her on the bed. She lifted it with her good arm, pointing it at the door.

The door banged open, and a ruffled and bloody looking Fusco stumbled through. She lowered the gun, resting it back on the bed, a smile breaking out on her face. “Hey, Lionel.” She said.

He spun around from where he was locking the door. “Give me a heart attack why don’t you, cocoa puffs.” He grumbled. “You don’t look so good.” He added, doing a double take at her appearance.

She chuckled. “The same could be said of you.”

“Gee thanks. I spent all of last night out looking for you and the rest of the crazy kooks you run with. You should be thanking me right now.”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Lionel. Do you know where John and Harry are?”

Fusco shook his head. “I haven’t seen wonder boy or glasses since last evening.”

She looked away from him, glancing out over the skyline visible through the windows. The machine wouldn’t talk to her, or couldn’t, and no one knew where Harry and John were. She didn’t want to lose the family she had found. She didn’t think she could survive that.

“Hey, cocoa puffs!” Fusco’s voice intruded into her consciousness, and she turned her head toward him, raising her eyebrows to indicate that she was listening. He sighed dramatically. “I said: where’s the other one? She must have brought you here, right?”

“She went to look for you, John, and Harry.” Root looked back out the window. “She should be back anytime now.”

Fusco flopped down on one of the couches, heaving a heavy sigh. Silence filled the space again.

“So, you care to explain to me what went down last night?” Fusco asked, twisting on the couch to look at her.

“I don’t really know, myself.” She said. “But I suspect Harry finally had enough of playing the nice guy.”

He raised his eyebrows. “What happened to glasses anyway? You were the last one to see him.”

She shuddered, remembering the fading image of Harold being led away. “The last I saw of him, he was being arrested. I was a little… out of it at the time though, so I don’t remember anything after that.”

“On that subject, what happened to you?” Fusco asked, his eyes betraying his concern.

Root paused, considering the best way to answer the question. “Oh, just the usual. Bullet wounds. Mild psychological torture. Nothing out of the ordinary.” She shrugged, but ended up wincing when her right shoulder moved.

Fusco nodded skeptically, sensing that there was more to the story, but deciding not to push her.

At that moment the door opened, and Bear ran in, followed by Shaw at a more reasonable pace. She shut the door and turned into the room. Relief flickered in her eyes for a second as she noticed Fusco.

“You alright?” She asked, nodding toward him as she moved into the room.

“I’ve had worse.” He said, leaning back into the couch.

Bear jumped up on the bed beside Root, and she ran her fingers through his fur, whispering softly in his ear. “Did you find John or Harry?” She asked, looking up at Shaw.

Shaw shook her head, her concern creeping into her eyes for a second. Root looked back down at Bear sadly, running her hand over his head. “At least you’re here, Buddy.” She mumbled.

“What do we do now?” Fusco asked, looking between Root and Shaw. Shaw looked down at Root, waiting for her to speak.

“I… don’t know.” She said, looking up at both of them. “Give a girl a minute to make a plan.”

Fusco looked down at the floor. “Do you ever not have a plan?” He asked half humorously.

Root shrugged. “Things have changed. You should go back to your job, live your life. There may not be anything to do. She hasn’t told me yet.”

He nodded slowly. “I’ll keep on looking for Reese and Finch. Just tell me if anything else comes up. Alright?”

She nodded silently, swallowing back the lump in her throat. She hoped that the machine would speak to her soon, help her find John and Harold. Even if they weren’t alive. She wouldn’t be able to enjoy their victory over Samaritan until she knew what had happened to them.

Fusco left with a final concerned glance toward Root. As soon as the door closed behind him, Shaw stepped up beside her. “What’s actually going on, Root?” She asked, her voice full of weariness.

“I don’t know.” Root said with a sad laugh. “She isn’t talking to me. I don’t even really know that she’s still alive. Things are changing, Sameen. And for the first time in a long time, I haven’t the faintest clue what’s going to happen tomorrow.”         


	4. Into the Dark

It was a week before anything happened.

The sun was filtering through the shades, lighting up Shaw’s face where she slept on the couch. Root looked down at her. The dark bags under her eyes had faded a little, and her skin had begun to regain a little of its characteristic tan. She sat down slowly beside the couch, careful not to jostle her arm.

As she settled on the floor her phone buzzed in her pocket. She dug it out and answered hurriedly, her voice suspicious. She hadn’t received a call since Samaritan had gone down.

“You happen to know anything about the body I got down by the river with you and shorty’s picture stuck to it?” Fusco asked without preamble.

“Hello to you to, Lionel.” She said. “And no, I wasn’t aware. I’ll be right there though.” She hung up the phone, not waiting for Fusco to answer.

Shaw looked at her, her head raised a little. “What was that?” She asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

“Just Fusco.” Root said with a shake of her head. “Could be nothing.”

“But you don’t think it’s nothing.”

Root looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “No. There are no coincidences in this world, I have found.” She said, turning her head to look at Shaw.

“What did he find?”

“Something about ‘a body with you and shorty’s picture stuck to it’. His words, not mine.” She added swiftly as Shaw’s eyes narrowed at the nickname.

They drove down to the river in silence. The body had been in a cab parked under a bridge, just out of sight from the road. Police teemed around the concealed vehicle, and a white sheet covered what could only be the body lying on the ground beside it.

Fusco met them by the police tape blocking off the scene. He held out a bloodstained photograph, and Root took it carefully, holding it up in the light. “Your machine tell you what’s going on yet?” Fusco asked.

She shook her head, still studying the photograph. “There’s something written here, under the blood.” She said, tilting her head to the side and squinting her eyes half shut.

She snapped a photo of the obscured writing, then handed the photo back to Fusco. “Has the body been identified yet?” She asked as he slipped the picture back into an evidence bag.

“Yeah. Joseph Turner, it was his taxi. Poor bastard’s been missing since the blackout last week. Looks like he picked up the wrong passenger.”

“And I suppose there aren’t any leads on who his final passengers might have been?”

“No.” Fusco shook his head. “There’s a lot of blood in the backseat that isn’t the driver’s though. We’re running prints and DNA. We’ll see if any matches pop up.”

Root pocketed her phone again. “Tell me if you get anything on the passengers. I’ll try to figure out what’s written on the photo.”

Shaw had been standing behind her silently, and Root turned toward her, walking away from the crime scene. “What sort of psycho kills a cabbie and sticks the picture of two dead women on his body?” Shaw asked rhetorically as they both made their way back to the car.

Root settled in the passenger seat, her face thoughtful. “Someone wants our attention.” She mused. “We’ve both made our fair share of enemies throughout our careers. It could be anyone, really.”

“That’s comforting.” Shaw muttered, starting the car and rolling back onto the road.

New York flashed by outside her window, and Root leaned against the door, resting her forehead against the glass of the window. “You know, I didn’t expect to make it this far.” She said, her voice soft, barely audible.

Shaw glanced over at her, a muscle in her jaw twitching. Root continued. “I always thought I would go down fighting Samaritan. It never occurred to me that I would get a chance to see what the world would look like after it was all over.” She paused, swallowing. “It hasn’t changed. The people… they’ll never know. Never know how hard we fought for them. Never know the pain and loss. And that’s a good thing. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She still looked out the window, her eyes unfocused. “But the war is still going on inside me. I can’t let it go.” Her voice trailed off.

“Hey, don’t get all weepy on me here, Eeyore.” Shaw said, glancing toward Root again. Silence filled the car for a moment. Then Shaw continued, her eyes fixed on the road ahead and her voice straining to stay even. “It never ends. The war. Not in your head anyway. You just have to find something to do with it. That’s the first thing you learn as a soldier.”

Root looked toward Shaw, telltale brightness in the corners of her eyes. “Thanks sweetie. Never took you as one for emotional pep-talks.”

Shaw rolled her eyes. “Don’t make me regret it.”

“Me?” Root’s characteristic shit eating grin returned. “Never.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket again, getting the photo up on her screen.

“What do you think it says?” Shaw asked, peering over at the phone.

Root squinted at the picture. “It looks like a string of numbers. But the blood smeared some of them, and I can’t make them out. So whatever our mysterious stalker is trying to convey, we’ll have to try to interpret.”

They pulled up in front of the building and parked. The car doors slammed as they stepped onto the sidewalk. Shaw’s eyes darted among the people passing them by, ever suspicious. They walked toward the building past a row of payphones along the side of the road.

One of the phones rang.

Root stopped, her eyes fixing on the phone like it was the only water in the middle of a dessert. She stepped forward, lifting it and pressing it to her ear, her expression reverent as she looked up at a camera positioned at the corner of the street. Shaw watched her silently.

After a moment she hung up the phone, scribbling down whatever the machine had said on a slip of paper. “What did Big Sister have to say?” Shaw asked, coming up beside Root.

“What?” Root startled a little, looking around at Shaw. “Oh.” She recovered. “We have a number.” She held up the slip of paper.

Back in the safe house Root settled in a chair with a computer, beginning to try to identify the number. Shaw began to clean her weapons, pulling them apart and spreading the pieces across all of the surfaces available. Bear curled up next to her on the couch, resting his head in her lap as she worked.

Comfortable silence settled over the room as they worked. Then Root’s phone rang. It was laying on the table, and when Root made no move to answer it Shaw stood and picked it up.

It was Fusco. His voice was urgent on the other end of the line. “I think I’ve got something on glasses and wonder boy. Tell cocoa puffs to come down to the station.”

Shaw frowned, pulling the phone away from her mouth. “Fusco’s got a lead on Finch and Reese.” She called to Root, trying to drag her attention away from the computer. Root held up a finger, still looking down at the screen. Shaw sighed. “He wants you to go down to the station.”

Root looked up. “Can you go? I’m still trying to ID our new number.”

“Fine.” Shaw huffed. “I’ll be there in a minute.” She said into the phone before hanging it up. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m out.” She directed to Root as she walked toward the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, love.” Root called after her as the door slammed shut.

                                                                                              ***

Fusco was standing on the sidewalk by the police station as she pulled up, a folder clutched in one of his hands. “Where’s cocoa puffs?” He asked. “I think she’ll want to see this.”

Shaw shrugged. “Robot overlord called. She’s busy with a number.”

Fusco glanced up and down the sidewalk at the people around them before handing Shaw the papers he was holding. “The feds are crawling all over this now. Glasses and Wonder boy’s prints are all over the back of that taxi.”

Shaw froze. “Anyone else?”

“Yeah.” Fusco snorted. “Half of New York has been through that backseat. We’ve got more petty criminals and unidentifiable partials than you can count on two hands.”

Shaw nodded. “There any security camera footage of how the taxi got to where it was found?”

Fusco shook his head. “It happened during the blackout. All the cameras were down.”

“Of course.” Shaw grumbled.

She sped back to the safe house, the file lying on the passenger seat beside her. It was oddly silent in the safe house when she got back, and Root’s computer was lying shut on the table. She was gone.

Shaw stopped, looking around the room. Root’s phone was gone too. She sighed and pulled her phone out of her pocket, hitting the contact marked “Pain in my ass”. Root’s phone started ringing, and Shaw tapped her foot impatiently as it rang.

Root picked up on the third ring. “Hey sweetie. How’s it hanging?” She said in lieu of a greeting, her voice gratingly cheerful.

“Where the hell are you?” Shaw barked, her irritation spilling over. Root’s absence concerned her.

“Give a girl a little space, Sam. You never seemed the clingy type to me.” Root replied in a singsong voice.

“I’m not… oh never mind.” Shaw sputtered. “You almost died last week, Root! What do think you’re doing?”

                                                                                              ***

Root stood in the middle of a subway terminal, the phone raised to her ear and her eyes searching through the crowd moving around her. “I think our number is about to do something very stupid.” She said, her eyes fixing on a tired and nervous looking man walking down the steps into the terminal. “Gotta go, Sameen. Don’t wait up.” She hung up the phone to the sound of Shaw’s voice protesting on the other end of the line.

The tired man sat down on a bench by the wall, his eyes darting around, observing the people surrounding him. Sweat poured down his face, and his skin was pale. Despite the warm weather, he was wearing a heavy jacket. Root sat down beside him. “So, Johnny, why would you want to blow up a subway station? That’s the part I’m having trouble piecing together. Because you have a good life: a wife, two kids, a good job.” She shrugged. “Why would you want to throw that all away?”

The man looked over at her, abject terror written all over his face. “I-I.” He stuttered. “Get away!” He pushed off the bench, his hand clutching at the zipper of his jacket, pulling it down to reveal a bomb vest.

She stood slowly, her good hand raised in front of her in an appeasing gesture. “I just want to talk. Why don’t you sit back down? It’s not like I can do anything to you that you’re not already planning to do yourself.”

He sat back down, his hands visibly shaking. “She made me do this, okay? I don’t want any of this. I just want to go home.” His lip trembled, and he hung his head.

Root leaned forward, intrigued. “Who made you?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know… Some crazy chick. She knocked me out, stuck this vest on me, and left me in a back alley last week. She left a note with instructions.” He dropped his hand toward his pocket, pulling a crumbled piece of paper out.

Root took it, smoothing it out to read the neat rows of hand writing printed across the page:

_“Don’t go to the police. Don’t go home. Don’t try to take it off. Do exactly as I say, otherwise it will explode. When the phone rings, go to the subway on 23 rd Street and wait.”_

Root let the paper drop on the bench beside her. “Let me see the vest, Johnny.” She said, her voice firm. Shaking, the man unzipped the jacket all the way, letting it hang open. A phone was wired into the front of the vest, displaying a countdown.

Root took a knife out of her pocket, gripping the blade with her right hand and using her left to pull it open. “Five minutes, huh?” She muttered, noting the time displayed on the countdown. “Whoever set this up isn’t even trying.”

She leaned forward, sliding the knife under the wires attaching the phone to the vest and severing them. As the knife slid through the corded copper the phone buzzed, a text appearing on the screen. They both jumped, then Root reached out, pulling the phone off the front of the vest.

She stood, dialing a number on her own phone. “Hello?” She said. “Yes, I’d like to report a bomb threat at the 23rd Street subway terminal.” She hung up the phone. “Sit tight, Johnny.” She said to the man. “Bomb squad is on the way.”

Then she left, jogging up the stairs out of the subway as police cars pulled up outside. She slipped past the officers piling out of the cars, briskly walking down the street in the opposite direction.

The phone she still held in her hand beeped, reminding her of the unread message. She swiped the lock screen open, looking at the text. It was another string of seemingly random numbers.

                                                                                          ***

Shaw was pacing back and forth angrily when Root walked back into the safe house. She spun toward Root as she walked through the door. “What the hell was that?” She asked, her voice full of concern thinly veiled beneath anger.

“Don’t worry, Sameen. I didn’t do anything stupid.” Root said, making her way back to her computer.

“You didn’t do anything stupid? Root, I looked at the surveillance footage you had on your computer. He had a bomb.”

“Okay, yes, it was risky, but I knew he was on his way to his target. I had to stop him.”

“How did you know he was on his way to his target?” Shaw asked, her anger fading slightly, replaced by curiosity. “There wasn’t anything about his target on your computer.”

“The picture from earlier. I figured out what the numbers were. They were coordinates, specifically the coordinates of the 23rd Street subway terminal. Johnny was headed toward the subway, and, well, you know there’s a reason I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“So, our friendly neighborhood stalker tried to blow up a train station?”

“I think they were just trying to send a message, since they got our attention with the cabbie. Poor Johnny was set up by someone anyway.” Root lifted the phone from the bomb vest. “There’s a text here with more numbers. Whatever game they’re playing, they’re good at it.”

Root sat down, opening her computer. “So,” she said, shifting the subject. “What did Lionel find on Harry and John?”

“Right, uh, it turns out both of them were in the cab with the dead guy at some point.” Shaw picked up the file that Fusco had given her from where she had set it on the table, holding it out toward Root.

Root took it, flipping it open and swiftly thumbing through the pages. She stopped, then flipped back a couple of pages. She looked down closely at the page she had stopped on. “The tracks of another vehicle were found by the taxi. Probably a getaway car.” She mused. Then she closed the folder and stood, walking toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Shaw asked, following her toward the door.

Throwing her jacket over her shoulders, Root turned back toward her. “Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute. There’s someone I have to talk to.”

Shaw stopped, watching Root leave. Then she sat back down, staring up at the ceiling.

Root walked down the hall outside the safe house purposefully, her boots beating out a harsh rhythm across the floor. She took the stairs down to the street, walking out the doors of the building into the hubbub of the world outside.

She walked down the street, her eyes searching for cameras on the corners of buildings.   Coming to a crosswalk camera, she stopped, staring up at it. “You need to tell me where John and Harold are.” She said, her eyes fixed on the blinking light on the camera.

She stood there for a long time, staring up, virtually unblinking. It began to grow dark, and the foot traffic crossing the street split around her like she was a rock in an ever moving sea of people.

Then the pay phone on the other side of the street rang. Root turned away from the camera slowly, looking across the road. She cast one last glance at the camera before crossing through the evening traffic.

The phone was warm under her hand, retaining the heat of the sun that had been shining down on it all day. She lifted it, hearing a click on the other end. Then a panoply of voices repeating: “Sierra. Tango. Oscar. Poppa.”

“No.” She let the phone drop from her hand, and it fell, dangling in the cooling evening air. “You’re not doing this again.” Emotion filled her eyes as she looked across the darkening space to the camera on the far side of the street. “I won’t stop, and you know it.”

She walked away from the phone and the camera, the growing darkness swallowing her. The streetlights flickered on and she continued down the now empty street, casting an ethereal shadow in the artificial light.

 


	5. Ghosts of the Past

She had recognized the numbers in the text almost instantly. A zip code and a familiar cemetery plot number. It had shaken her, to see them again after all this time. She hadn’t been able to tell Shaw. She didn’t know why. She’d thought that she had left her fear behind. But apparently Bishop Texas would always haunt her. The dark and the cold sunk into her bones again, and she hurried down the dark street.

Whoever killed cabbie had John and Harold, of that much she was certain. First they had found the picture on his body, which had led her to the subway bomber, which had led her to a text with her mother’s cemetery plot number.

Clearly, whoever had been trying to draw them in had a bone to pick with her, specifically. She wouldn’t drag Shaw into it, she decided. It wasn’t really her fight.

She had a car parked in a parking garage a few blocks away, and she put her head down and pulled her jacket shut around herself as she made her way toward it under the flickering streetlights.

The long climb up the stairs to the top floor of the parking garage felt like an eternity, and a dull throbbing sprung back up in her shoulder as she ascended the final flight of stairs. She stopped, leaning against the railing and catching her breath. The clammy darkness of the garage surrounded her. The lights in the stairwell were old, and many of them were burnt out.

It was times like this that she felt the loneliness most acutely. It weighed her down, eating away at the back of her mind. She turned and looked back down the stairs, ensuring herself that she wasn’t being followed. Then she sighed, finishing her ascent of the last few stairs.

Usually, the machine would be in her ear, giving her a mission. Even in the long months that she had been unable to speak to her directly, she had always known that she had been watching, ready to step in should she need her. Now there was only silence, and a dull ache in the side of her head. She rested her hand over her right ear, careful not to pull at the stitches. She shivered at the touch, her skin cold.

She missed the little voice that had guided her through some of the worst moments of her life. But most of all she missed her team. Already, she regretted her decision to not take Shaw. But she didn’t want to drag Shaw into more trouble. Especially since she was just starting to get past what Samaritan had done to her.

She rounded a corner, her car coming into view. Shaw was leaning against it, a large black duffle with weapons protruding from it hanging over her shoulder, and a mildly irritated expression on her face.

Root stopped. The dull lights were shining off of Shaw’s hair, and she was wearing all black. She looked up, noticing Root. Root started forward again, her steps tentative.

“What?” Shaw asked as she drew closer, “You didn’t think I would notice that you were about to run out on me?”

“Sameen…” Root began, not sure what to say.

Shaw cut her off. “I don’t care.   I don’t care what Robot overlord did or didn’t say. I don’t care what the mission is. We’re a team, Root.” She gestured between them. “You and I, we look out for each other. I know you’re used to flying solo, but you aren’t alone anymore. I wouldn’t forgive myself if something happened to you, and I know you feel the same way about me. So you have to tell me what’s going on.”

Root nodded, swallowing. “Fair enough.” She managed to say, leaning against the car beside Shaw. “She still won’t tell me. She doesn’t want me to go after John and Harold though.”

“You have a lead on them beyond the police report?”

“Yes.” Root said, looking away from Shaw, into the shadows surrounding them. “The numbers in the text sent to the phone from the bomb? I recognized them. They lead to my mother’s grave.”

Shaw turned her head toward Root, her eyebrows raised in surprise. “Your mother’s grave?” She repeated, her voice incredulous. “What the hell sort of a screwed up game is this?”

Root shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I guess we’ll find out, though.” She pushed away from the side of the car and walked around toward the driver’s door. “Get in, darlin’, we’re going to Texas.”

Shaw shoved her bag full of weapons into the backseat, then climbed into the car. She settled into the passenger’s seat and slammed to door. “So, even though the machine told you not to, you’re going to follow the lead?”

“Yep.” Root put the car into reverse and gave it an excessive amount of gas, causing the tires to shriek on the pavement as she spun it around.

“I thought you didn’t question it, just followed orders.”

Root shook her head, her jaw working a little as she swallowed. “No. Maybe I used to, but when you disappeared I couldn’t stop looking for you, even when she told me to.”

Shaw looked away from Root, surprised by the strong emotions that filled her voice. She didn’t really know what to say. She never knew how to respond to other people’s feelings. She looked back over at Root. Her eyes were fixed on the road. There was no hurt on her face, just a quiet intensity. Shaw realized that she didn’t expect her to say anything. She relaxed back into her seat, letting silence fill the car.

She had never really thought about what had happened in the real world while she was gone. The simulations had filled up her mind, and she hadn’t been able to think about anything else. In the simulations, Root had always said that she had never stopped looking for her. There had been tears in her eyes then, like there were now.

She wondered what it had been like. All that time, not knowing. All the times she had killed herself, she had done it knowing that she was saving Root. But real Root hadn’t even known that she wasn’t dead. She had fought a war, and not given up on Shaw for months, with no positive outcome in sight.

Sometimes Shaw wished she wasn’t so damn devoted. So willing to run into danger, risk her life for others. Really, she just wished that Root knew that she deserved to live. She wondered if anyone had ever told her that.

Probably not. It wasn’t something that typically came up in everyday conversation, after all.

The city lights flashed by, and Shaw looked out the window, watching the world slip past them at an impossible speed. Root still had her eyes on the road.

“What was it like?” Shaw asked.   “After Samaritan captured me.”

Root looked over at her for a second. “Everyone tried to tell me that you were dead, but I wouldn’t believe them. I couldn’t.” She shrugged, her eyes shining. “I kept on fighting, protecting people. But I was always looking for you.”

Shaw stared out her window, her eyes still fixed on the darkness around the car. “In all of the simulations, I knew it wasn’t you. But I didn’t give in, because that would mean killing you, in both the fake world and the real one. I couldn’t betray you like that. But I did betray the others, and I don’t know what to think about that.” She fell silent again, looking down at her lap. The lines of reality were blurring around her again, and her mind ached for the familiar park and roundabout. Her hand brushed against the skin of her neck. She longed to feel the solid weight of her gun in her hand, to feel the control it brought. But she had left the guns in the backseat.

She felt the car slow, then swerve slightly. She looked back up. Root had pulled over and stopped, her good hand still resting on the wheel. “You can’t blame yourself for that. If your simulations were anything like mine, then Samaritan used the people closest to you to try to force you to give up information. The only way I managed to avoid the trap is because you told me about it.” She paused for a second. “You are the strongest person I have ever known, and you didn’t break. You didn’t give us up. Even though it was pure torture for you to keep on fighting, you didn’t stop.”

Shaw looked back down. “I killed a woman. In the real world.” She clarified. “Because I couldn’t tell what was real anymore. Her blood is on my hands. I’m a liability, Root, a murderer.”

Root scoffed at the last word. “Please. I’m more of a murderer than you are, Sameen. Everyone screws up from time to time, although I would argue that you didn’t even really screw up, since you were acting directly under the effects of psychological torture. But even if you did, it doesn’t have to define you. Things happen. It’s how we respond to them that actually defines us.” She reached out and laid her hand on Shaw’s leg, her eyes boring into Shaw’s. “Don’t let this destroy you.”

Shaw closed her eyes, nodding silently. She swallowed, her hand falling away from her neck. Warmth from Root’s hand bled through into her thigh. She didn’t need her gun. She could trust those hands to take her anywhere, to give up control, or to catch her when she fell. She was safe. “Just drive, woman.” She finally managed to say, her voice gruff.

Root gently squeezed Shaw’s leg, then pulled her hand away. She put the car into gear, pulling back into traffic. Shaw let her head fall back against the headrest, her eyes fluttering shut. She was tired.

It was late. They had been driving for nearly two hours, speeding a little. She looked over to Root, where she sat in the driver’s seat. She looked tired as well. “Let’s stop for the night. Nothing will be helped by us being half dead tomorrow.” Shaw said.

Reluctantly, Root agreed, and they pulled off at the next motel they passed. The room they rented was small and smelled vaguely of mold. The bed was soft though. That was all that Shaw cared about. She had spent far too many missions sleeping on the ground or worse.

She flopped down, feeling the mattress give under her weight. Root was sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room, the glow of the laptop she had brought with her illuminating her face. Shaw propped herself up on her elbow, gazing over at Root. She looked worried. Tired and worried.

Shaw sighed. “Hey, killer, you gonna come to bed, or are you gonna sit there and brood over that computer all night?”

Root looked up, slightly startled. She shut the computer and stood, walking toward the bed. She kicked her boots off and lowered herself down beside Shaw.

“You haven’t tried to piss me off all evening. Care to tell me what’s wrong?” Shaw asked, after the heavy silence became too much for her.

“It’s nothing, really.” Root said, her voice becoming muffled as she turned her head away.

“Bullshit. You’re in full Eeyore mode.” Shaw narrowed her eyes, staring at Root.

                                                                                          ***

               _1991, Bishop, Texas_

Flies buzzed around her as she walked up the rickety stairs toward the crooked screen door. The house was eerily silent, and the creaking of the steps under her feet was loud in the still, early June air. Her backpack was heavy on her back, filled with her books from the last day of school.

She was glad that it was done. Without Hannah, walking into the big school every day was torture. She walked across the narrow porch, deftly stepping over the rotten boards. The screen door opened with a grating shriek, the hinges badly needing oil. She stepped into the stuffy half-dark of the house, her nose wrinkling at the vague acrid scent of mold and vomit that greeted her.

“Mom!” She called, her voice small in the empty feeling house.

Silence.

She walked down the hall, her footsteps reverberating through the empty space. Her mother wasn’t in any of the rooms downstairs. It was unusual for her to be gone. She was usually lying on the couch by this time in the afternoon, her eyes glassy and half shut, and a bottle of pills lying on the floor beside her.

She started up the stairs, going to search the second floor. The door to her mother’s bedroom was open, and she walked towards it slowly, her steps weary. The blinds of the room were drawn and she couldn’t see in the darkness. She reached over to the light switch, flicking on the lights.

Her mother was laying on the bed, her eyes open, fixed in glassy stillness. Pills were spilled across the floor. She slowly crept toward the bed, the pills crunching under her feet. She reached a trembling hand toward her mother, brushing her fingers over her skin. It was cold. She was dead.

She drew back, slowly backing out of the room, her eyes wide.

They had buried her mother the next day. She hadn’t known what to think as the casket had been lowered into the ground. She had been the only one there, lonely and lost, watching the funeral of the only thing that had been tethering her to the daily slog of human life.

                                                                                          ***

               _2016_

Root let the silence linger as long as she could before she spoke again. “It’s my mother. I haven’t been to her grave since the funeral, when I was twelve. I left just after that; no one even noticed that I was gone.” She paused, drawing in a shuddering breath. “I feel guilty, sometimes, that I don’t miss her. She loved me, I suppose, but all that really stuck with me about her was how sick she always looked, how frail. And the pills she took every day to get away from the pain.” She fell silent again, her eyes fixed on a spot on the ceiling.

Shaw rolled toward her, protectively laying her arm across her stomach and resting her head against her chest, listening to the beat of her heart. Root sighed, bringing her hand up and resting it on Shaw’s. She relaxed slowly, the tension slipping out of her muscles. They fell asleep that way.

Sunlight was shining on her face when she woke up. Shaw’s head was still resting on her chest, and their fingers had tangled together during the night. She smiled a little, giving Shaw’s hand a slight squeeze. Shaw stirred, raising her head. Root looked over at the clock on the bedside table.

It was still early, but they had a lot of ground to cover. Gently, she eased out from under Shaw, giving her hand a final squeeze before letting go. Shaw groaned, rolling over onto her back and covering her eyes with her hand. Root stood, beginning to pack the few things that they had brought into the room.

As she finished stuffing her laptop back her backpack, Shaw came out of the bathroom, looking moderately more awake and ready to travel. “You better have a plan for where we’re gonna get breakfast, otherwise I’ll have to resort to cannibalism.” She grumbled as they headed toward the car.

“You can eat me anytime you want, Sam.” Root said, her teasing tone returning.

Shaw rolled her eyes, grumbling under her breath. She sighed. She had set herself up for that one. Yet somehow, even though it was early, she was pissed and hungry, and she needed a cup of coffee badly, she felt light, alive. She would never admit it, but she had missed Root’s idiotic sense of humor.

“I’m driving this time.” She said as they approached the car. Without argument, Root tossed her the keys. She caught them one handed and unlocked the car. The wheel felt good under hands, and she started the engine with a satisfying roar.

Root slammed the passenger’s door, and they were away. Shaw sped down the road, a half smile on her face. The windows were rolled down and the wind pounded through the car.

They stopped for food and coffee at a gas station sometime in the middle of the morning. Shaw was thoroughly unsatisfied with the quality, but they kept moving.

It was evening by the time they got to Bishop. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, painting the buildings and the surrounding landscape red. Shaw slowed as she drove through town, her eyes roving over the streets. Root was silent and tense in the passenger’s seat, staring fixedly ahead.

Shaw didn’t stop till they got to the cemetery on the far side of town. In the fading light, she pulled up beside the black metal fence surrounding the large field of grave markers. Slowly, they climbed out of the car. Although it was hot in the evening sun, Root pulled her jacket around herself like a shield.

Shaw walked beside her, her hand brushing against Root’s as they moved through the headstones. Among the sparse and scraggly grass they found an old and untended stone, long grass had grown over the grave it marked, making it nearly invisible. Root crouched down in front of it, brushing the grass away from the writing carved close to its base.

_April Groves_

_1957-1991_

She rested her hand on top of the stone, her head bowed slightly. Shaw stood just behind her, her hand hanging inches away from Root’s shoulder. Root stayed there, as though frozen, her breath ghosting through the grass around the gravestone.             

Then a phone rang. Root jumped, her hand slipping off the stone and her head snapping up. She scrabbled around in the grass at the base of the stone. Her hand hit the solid material of a phone casing, and she picked it up. It was still ringing.

With shaking hands, she answered the call.

“Hello?” Her voice was tentative. Shaw was tense beside her, her eyes fixed on her.

“Miss Groves.” A heavily distorted voice said through the phone. “So glad you could make it.”

“Who are you?” Root asked, an edge creeping back into her voice.

“Come to the coordinates I send to this phone if you ever want to see John and Harold again.”

“How do I know that you actually have them?” Root asked.

“You don’t. I expect you at four o’clock, tomorrow afternoon. And miss Groves? Come alone and unarmed if you don’t want them to get hurt.” Then the line went dead.

Root pulled the phone away from her ear, staring down at the screen.

Shaw shifted, her eyes still fixed on Root. “What are you going to do?” She asked.

“I have to get them back, Sameen.” Root’s voice was almost apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to drag you into this.” She shook her head.

“They’re my friends to, and it’s as much my job to protect them as it is yours. This isn’t all on you.” Shaw said, putting her hand against Root’s back and turning her back toward the car. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.” She glanced around at their morbid surroundings in the ever growing dark.

They walked back to the car, trying to hurry in the dusk. Shaw slid back in behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition and feeling the engine come to life. The lights of the car shone on the road, illuminating a narrow tunnel in the night. They pulled away from the cemetery, leaving Bishop behind.


End file.
